


like an island (just me and you)

by butterflysky



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Hydra (Marvel), Infinity War spoilers, M/M, Oblivious Bucky, Pining, Post-Infinity War, Sort Of, Vacation, and body image issues, bucky probably has a form of social anxiety, thinly veiled plot excuse for them all to go on vacation, wanda and clint are just mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-03
Updated: 2018-06-03
Packaged: 2019-05-17 22:22:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14840282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/butterflysky/pseuds/butterflysky
Summary: Steve has been talking and talking for a long while, now, but the main thing Bucky takes from his speech is—“We’re going on vacation?” He can’t help how doubtful it sounds.(Bucky, Sam, Steve and Natasha go on a mission to stop some Hydra operatives in a luxury hotel resort. Bucky definitely Does Not Like Sam, and he definitely isn't pining.)





	like an island (just me and you)

Steve has been talking and talking for a long while, now, but the main thing Bucky takes from his speech is—

“We’re going on vacation?” He can’t help how doubtful it sounds. Out the corner of his eye, he sees Sam roll his eyes. Bucky tenses defensively, but Steve is already talking, so he decides to be the bigger person and lets it go. For now.

“Basically,” Steve says.

Bucky’s been listening enough to know that they’re tracking down the last scraps of Hydra, who are, for some reason, conducting business in a luxury resort out somewhere in the Caribbean. But, hey, it works for them — they can sunbathe and wreck Hydra at the same time, and that’s great. And, honestly, after the whole Thanos debacle, going after Hydra feels refreshingly simple. Like old times, he thinks. Old, _old_ times.

“What’s our cover?” Natasha asks, and Steve spreads his hands in a _you probably won’t like this_ kind of gesture and Bucky braces himself.

“We’re going as ourselves,” Steve says. His body language says _I know you hate this and I’m sorry,_ but his tone and his face says _this is final and I won’t argue with any of you over it,_ so Bucky goes for something just this side of a shriek when he says,

“ _What?_ ”

Steve gives him a Look and says, “No cover. We want them to know we’re there.”

“So we’re bait?” Bucky asks, and suddenly he’s not so sure how he feels about this. He’s sure Hydra would _love_ to get their Asset back, and he doesn’t want to go skipping back onto their radar now, after everything he’s been through.

“Basically,” Steve says.

Sam sighs. “This is dumb as hell.”

Bucky starts rubbing his hands, twisting his fingers together, a nervous tic he’d picked up at some point. He’s not sure when. Steve sees the movement and says, “It’ll be fine.”

Bucky looks down at where he’d twined his fingers together. “Well, the arm will catch their attention.”

Steve looks worried, and Bucky can already imagine him saying _Buck, you can sit this one out if you don’t feel ready_ and it looks like Steve is about to say just that when Sam says, “When are we going? I need to find my trunks.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, obviously enough that he knows Sam sees it.

“Two days,” Steve says. “Remember, we _want_ attention.”

“I can find you a Hawaiian shirt,” Natasha says, thoughtfully, and starts laughing when Steve looks like he’s considering it.

***

“Move your bag, Wilson,” Bucky snaps, when his pitiful little suitcase won’t fit into the back of the car because _somebody_ has overpacked to such an extent that it’d be comical if it wasn’t so acutely irritating.

Sam shoulders him out the way. “That’s not even my bag, _genius._ It’s Steve’s.”

Bucky feels his mouth drop open. “What the hell has he got in there?”

“Inflatables,” Sam says gravely, and Bucky only just manages to catch the laughter in his throat.

They’re not getting a normal plane, of course — even Steve had admitted that’d be a little bit _too_ obvious — but the airfield is a twenty minute drive away. Bucky sits next to Natasha in the back, and when Sam promptly leans his chair back (on _purpose,_ of course) Bucky immediately sticks his legs forward so his knees are jammed up into the back of the seat. He hopes it’s making Sam as excruciatingly uncomfortable as it’s making him. Out the corner of his eye, he sees Natasha watching them, looking mildly amused.

They have a private plane rather than a quinjet, and it’s so damn luxurious the first thing Bucky does is throw himself onto a leather chair and shut his eyes. He likes this mission, he decides. All he has to do is _relax,_ and maybe, like, do some recon or whatever. He’s thinking about leaving all the heavy lifting to the others. After Thanos, he thinks he deserves it — and, he supposes, grudgingly, so does Sam. They got dusted together, after all (they argue frequently about whether they actually _died_ or just disappeared for a while— Sam says yes, because they stopped existing, Bucky says no, because it’d felt no different to cryo sleep. Steve gets a kind of pained look on his face whenever they really get into it). Natasha and Steve can sort out the remnants of Hydra, he thinks, and opens his eyes to look over at them both playing travel Monopoly.

He falls asleep eventually, and wakes when the plane lands. He can feel the heat outside already, and finds himself grinning. One thing he’s discovered about himself in the 21st century is that he loves the sun on his skin.

“Time to break out the Hawaiian shirts, boys,” Natasha says. “I packed you one each.”

Bucky laughs good-naturedly till he realises she isn’t joking.

***

The hotel is _magnificent,_ a lobby made all of marble, an absolutely massive swimming pool, a poolside bar _and_ a beach bar, and their bedrooms all have king sized beds. 

Bucky wants to stay forever. He’s making plans to do just that — retiring in his twenties might be pushing it but _technically_ he’s in his hundreds, so really he’s overdue.

Their rooms aren’t ready when they arrive, so they leave their bags and head for the bar — the beginning of the charade, apparently. Bucky’s wearing a long-sleeved shirt to hide his arm for the moment, and the heat goes from pleasant to stifling quickly. He scoots into the shade.

“You should take that off,” Sam says, nodding at Bucky’s shirt, and Bucky, for some reason, feels warmer. “You’re sweating.”

Bucky lets his metal hand _thunk_ onto the table between them. It’s not as eye-catching as it used to be, and sometimes he wondered how he managed to get _anything_ done as the Winter Soldier when his arm was literally the shiniest thing imaginable, but it’s still pretty incongruous compared to the rest of him.

“No, Bucky, I didn’t forget about your metal arm,” Sam deadpans. “Do you think nobody’s noticed Captain America and Black Widow ordering drinks? You’re fine, man.”

Bucky looks over to where Steve and Natasha are stood at the bar, then looks across to the people sitting either side of them — Sam’s right, they’ve definitely noticed. Someone is sneaking a phone out and lifting it in their direction; Natasha’s head moves just enough that he knows she’s clocked the movement, but she lets the picture get taken.

“I don’t understand this plan,” Bucky says, but pops the first few buttons of his shirt anyway. Sam watches his hands. “Hydra will clear out as soon as they notice us. I know them.”

“Not if they think we haven’t noticed them,” Sam says, but he doesn’t sound convinced. “Steve thinks they’ll come at us eventually, and we just have to wait. It’s easier to get them out in the open than in the shadows.”

Bucky used to _be_ one of those shadows. And as soon as he’d stepped into the light, he’d been found and then he’d been saved. “Yeah. That’s true.”

Sam raises his eyebrows. “Are you _agreeing_ with me, Barnes?”

“Don’t get used to it,” Bucky says, and Sam smirks.

“Drinks,” Steve says, and Bucky looks up to see him approaching the table with three brightly coloured drinks clutched precariously in his hands. Natasha follows with one, but she’s using her other hand to hold the straw as she drinks. She _looks_ casual, but Bucky catches the way her eyes slide from side to side as she sips her drink, and knows she’s tracking every possible threat.

Steve slides a drink at him and Bucky lifts it up to the light to squint at it. It’s _green._

Sam bursts out laughing. “You’re supposed to drink it.”

“I’m aware of that,” Bucky snaps, then looks him square in the eye, sticks the straw in his mouth, and drinks as much of it in one go as he possibly can.

Sam laughs harder.

“It’s time to get serious,” Steve says, appropriately seriously. “We need to talk about the mission.”

Steve still has his and Sam’s drink in front of him, and the combination of Steve holding two neon pink drinks with bright blue umbrellas sticking out of them while he looks at them with his Serious Captain America Face and uses his Serious Captain America Voice is so funny Bucky almost chokes on his drink.

“I’m serious,” Steve says, wounded.

“We know,” Sam says, and rolls his eyes.

“There are six Hydra operatives here,” Natasha says, leaning back lazily in her chair. “Two are high ranking.”

“Nat and I were thinking it’d be best if we split up into two and two,” Steve says, and finally gives Sam his drink. “Two of us watch the Hydra operatives and the other two—”

“Are actually on vacation,” Natasha says, and grins around her straw.

“That way it’ll look more convincing,” Steve says. “If at least half of us are _actually_ relaxing.”

Bucky finds himself hating and loving this plan because he _wants_ to spend the whole day tanning by the pool, going down to the beach, maybe taking some yoga classes while he’s at it, but he also wants to destroy Hydra for good and he can’t do that if he’s in the pool.

“Sounds good, man,” Sam says. “God knows I need a vacation.”

“So,” Bucky says, directing his words to Steve and Natasha. “When are we first up?”

“Sorry Barnes,” Natasha says. “I’m with Rogers on this one.”

Bucky gapes at her, and then at Steve, and then at Sam, who looks as horrified by this as he feels.

“You guys are a good team,” Steve says, neutrally, and Bucky glares at him. This is some stupid _you two don’t get along and I want you to_ scheme, Bucky knows it is, just like the time Steve conveniently got stuck in traffic for three hours and left the two of them alone in his apartment waiting for him turned out to be.

Bucky mentally drafts the strongly-worded text he’ll be sending Steve later: _you’re really doing this ON A MISSION, STEVE????_

“Steve,” Sam says, plaintively. “Joke’s over.”

“I said I was serious,” Steve says, and shrugs. “Anyway, I think our rooms will be ready now.”

“I swear to God, if we’re sharing rooms,” Bucky mutters, and Sam glares at him.

“Adjoining rooms,” Natasha says breezily. “So you can chat about the mission whenever you both want.”

Bucky has never felt so betrayed in his life.

“That door is staying locked, Barnes,” Sam says, and they go back to glaring at each other.

***

The door, in fact, stays open while they unpack.

“Did Natasha get a shirt into your suitcase too?” Bucky calls through the doorway, because somehow _she got into his locked suitcase._

“Yeah,” Sam says, sounding resigned. “I just don’t even ask how she does it anymore.”

Probably smart, Bucky thinks, and lays his whole three shirts out neatly on the bed. He hears Sam behind him.

“Is that all you packed?” Sam asks. “That’s sad.”

“I thought I’d spend most of my time in gear,” Bucky says, defensively. His gear is taking up most of his suitcase.

“Now you gotta wear Natasha’s shirt,” Sam says, and Bucky snorts.

“I don’t think so.” He lays his gear out on the bed next to his vacation clothes, then sits on the edge of the bed and starts assembling his gun.

“Jesus, man, we’re supposed to be relaxing,” Sam says.

“Doesn’t hurt to be prepared.”

“Have you _ever_ been on vacation?” Sam asks, folding his arms and looking down at him.

Bucky glances up. “Uh.” He thinks. “No. But it’s not like I don’t know how to.”

“My wings are staying in my bag until we’re on mission,” Sam says.

“You can’t _fly around,_ ” Bucky says. “That’s definitely not something you’d be doing on vacation.”

“Oh, because you wear weird leather vests on vacation?” Sam demands, pointing at his gear, then shakes his head. “Never mind, I don’t want to know.”

“Funny,” Bucky says.

“Anyway, I’ll keep them folded up on my back,” Sam says. “But you know I can use them as shields, and I’ve got Redwing, and I’ve got—”

Bucky yawns, exaggeratedly, and Sam glares at him again.

“Fine. I’m shutting this door.”

“Bye,” Bucky says, and doesn’t look up again until the door has slammed behind him.

***

He finds Sam at breakfast the next day, sitting at a table for two in the back corner. Bucky hovers in the doorway for a moment, then walks as purposefully as he can through the room, weaving between tables, extremely aware of his left arm held stiffly at his side. He needs to ease up a bit, or he’ll blow their cover before the mission even starts.

He doesn’t hear anyone whisper as he passes by (and he’s straining his hearing to catch _isn’t that the Winter Soldier—?_ ) and as far as he can see, no one pays him any attention. They will, though, as soon as they notice — he’s sure of that.

“What time do you call this?” Sam asks as soon as Bucky sits down.

“I was tired,” Bucky says, and then starts scanning the room for Hydra.

“We’re on _vacation,_ ” Sam says, rolling his eyes. “Nat and Steve have it covered, Barnes. Please relax, I’m getting stressed just looking at you.”

“Whatever,” Bucky says, testily, and stares at Sam’s plate instead. He jumps when he feels a hand on his wrist.

“Bucky,” Sam says. “It’s okay. Honestly.”

Bucky stammers out something that sounds like _okay,_ then stands up. “Buffet, right?”

“Right,” Sam says, looking amused, and Bucky grabs his plate and all but runs for the food.

He piles his plate with pretty much one of everything and ignores Sam’s raised eyebrows when he sits back down.

“You hungry?” Sam asks, with a laugh.

“I have to eat more than you,” Bucky says, and does his best to look smug. “Super soldier serum.” He’s pretty sure he has the Hydra off-brand version of the serum, but Sam doesn’t need to know that.

“ _Whatever_ ,” Sam says, but he’s smiling.

“What’s today’s plan?” Bucky asks, shoving food into his mouth. It’s so _good._

“There _is_ no plan,” Sam says. “That’s the whole point. Our job today is just to relax. Maybe sign some autographs.”

Bucky can’t imagine anyone wanting the Winter Soldier’s autograph, but he supposes he’d sign something if anyone asked. But then, would he sign as the Winter Soldier or the White Wolf? He's not really sure what everyone knows him as anymore.

“That was a joke,” Sam says, and Bucky realises he’d been thinking a little too hard.

“Right,” Bucky says. “So…what are you doing today?”

Sam’s sigh is put-upon. “I’m laying next to the pool with a book. What are _you_ doing?”

“Tanning,” Bucky decides, and grins when Sam looks surprised. “By the pool.”

Sam groans. “Man, we don’t have to be attached at the hip for the next two days, you know.”

“I know,” Bucky shrugs, and goes back to his food.

***

They find two sun loungers next to the pool, and Sam settles down and cracks open his book without another word. Bucky, on his own lounger, curls his fingers round the hem of his shirt. He can’t sunbathe with it on, but the scarring on his shoulder is _messy._ It’s not something people on vacation should have to deal with. But then he thinks of the Hydra operatives somewhere on the resort, and suddenly he wants them to know that they don’t own him anymore, that they have no control and no influence over him anymore, so he slides his shirt off. It feels anticlimactic when he balls it up and leaves it at the end of the lounger.

He slathers himself in sunscreen, slides on some sunglasses, and lays back with his eyes shut. He leaves his arm dangling off the lounger — although he’s never tested it, he’s fairly certain it’s extremely temperature sensitive and will leave scorch marks on the fabric if it gets too hot (and, if it’s off the lounger, it’s more hidden, and that can only be a good thing).

It’s surprisingly nice, just _being_ for a little while, just laying there quietly and knowing no one expects anything from him for at least the next two days. He’s not sure he’s relaxed like that since some time in the 1920s.

He falls asleep, and wakes up to Sam nudging him awake.

“Lunch?” he asks, and Bucky sits upright, pulls his shirt back on, and nods.

They head for the bar, and Bucky discovers that, actually, his arm has stayed cool under the sun. He finds this out when Sam brushes up against it by mistake, and Bucky’s entire body jolts and his feet actually leave the ground for a second in his scramble to put distance between them.

“Whoa,” Sam says. “Okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bucky says, hurriedly. “Sorry I just—I thought my arm would be really hot, from the sun.”

Sam stares at him, then grins. “You worrying about me, Barnes?”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “No. What are you having?”

They end up with a large portion of fries each, and it’s only when they’re sitting opposite each other that Bucky realises Sam is wearing his shirt unbuttoned over his bare chest, and it should look silly but it really…doesn’t.

Bucky clears his throat and eats his fries in silence.

They’re almost done when Bucky’s phone buzzes — it’s a text from Clint, a screenshot of a tweet showing a slightly blurry picture of Natasha and Steve at the bar the day before, with the location included. It has hundreds of thousands of retweets.

“Get ready to sign some autographs,” Sam says, and Bucky tries to laugh, or at least smile.

***

Back on their sun loungers, Bucky tugs his shirt back off and lays down flat. But he feels restless, and he can’t get comfortable again. 

“I can’t concentrate on my book with you moving around like that,” Sam complains, and Bucky tries to hold still. It doesn’t work.

He sits up. “I might…go for a swim or something,” he says.

Sam leaves his book laying open across his — bare — chest and says, “You’re worried again, huh?”

Bucky shrugs.

Sam sits up. “We could go play mini golf.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Bucky mutters.

“I know,” Sam says, and stands up.

***

As it turns out, Sam is way too good at mini golf, and he beats Bucky so badly that Bucky’s convinced he only offered because he thought it’d be funny. It _is_ funny, really; Bucky literally cannot get a single ball to go where he wants it to go, and he clenches his club so hard it bends a little bit, which Sam thinks is hysterical, and then Bucky can’t help laughing at the sight of Sam bent double and gasping. 

They’re probably drawing too much attention to themselves, but apparently that’s the goal, so Bucky tries not to let it get to him. And, anyway, he has a pistol hidden in a thigh holster under his shorts, so they’ll be fine.

Nobody asks for an autograph, but Bucky does get another text — this time from Wanda (who he judges as a friend after she helped him sort through some of his worst memories after he came out of cryo in Wakanda). It’s another tweet, this time a picture of him and Sam laughing over the third hole. The caption is _falcon and the white wolf are really out here golfing like they've got nothing better to do??? —_ Sam finds this hilarious, too, and his laughter is kind of infectious.

***

The sun’s too low to go back to the pool by the time they’re done golfing, and they’re covered in sunscreen and sweat, so by mutual agreement they go back to their rooms to shower and clean up for dinner. They’re not meeting Steve and Natasha till later that night, which leaves an awkward stretch of time to fill — Bucky’s not sure if they’re filling it together or not, and he doesn’t want to ask in case he makes things any weirder than they already are. 

He’s not really sure where he stands with Sam — he knows they don’t _genuinely_ dislike each other, but he also knows they get genuinely irritated with each other. He liked Sam’s company all day, and he _thinks_ Sam liked his. Maybe.

Bucky decides not to think about it while he cleans up. He packed one single shirt that he could wear to dinner and a pair of jeans that he thinks will do, and when he checks himself in the mirror before he knocks on their adjoining door he thinks he looks _okay._ He’s not really sure why it matters to him, suddenly, how he looks.

Sam opens the door as soon as he knocks, and he’s dressed up kind of fancy, too — Bucky doesn’t exactly feel _underdressed,_ now, but he’s a lot more aware that he’s wearing jeans _._ Maybe he should’ve worn slacks. He doesn’t think he owns any slacks.

“Hey man,” Sam says. “You ready?”

“Yeah,” Bucky says. “Aren’t you gonna wear something nice?”

“Asshole,” Sam says, but fondly.

They get the same table as breakfast, and Bucky moves his chair round so he can keep an eye on the windows. It puts him almost next to Sam, but Sam doesn’t say anything.

“What’re you reading?” Bucky asks, when they’ve been sat in silence for what feels like an age.

Sam looks up. “The menu,” he says, dryly.

Bucky rolls his eyes. “I meant _earlier,_ by the pool. What were you reading?”

“It’s about space travel,” Sam says. “You can read it after me, if you want.”

Space travel sounds really cool, actually, but Sam doesn’t need to know that.

After they’ve ordered, Bucky asks, “Have you heard from Steve or Nat?” and tries not to show that he’s still feeling more nervous than he should.

“Nope,” Sam says. “But they’d call if they needed anything.”

“I know,” Bucky says, and shifts in his seat to try get more comfortable. He’s so _anxious._ He’s always been hidden on missions, even way back in the war as a sniper. Sitting out in the open in a restaurant when hundreds of thousands of people know where he is and what he’s doing is so _not_ what he’s used to.

Their food arrives, and they go back to silence until Sam says, “You know, tonight’s entertainment is a comedian, if you’re into that sort of thing.”

“I think I’m into comedy,” Bucky says. “As a concept.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “It starts at 9. I’m gonna be there.”

“Then I guess I’ll go too,” Bucky says, and focuses intently on winding pasta around his fork.

***

Unfortunately for them, the comedian has _also_ seen the golf tweet, and it forms the basis of most of his act. Bucky slides down as low in his seat as he possibly can, flushed red, but Sam laughs as loud as everyone else.

“Come on, man, that was funny,” Sam says, and Bucky scowls at him. They’re on their way to meet Steve and Natasha at the bar — people keep _looking_ at them, and Bucky’s feeling more and more on edge.

“I might just chill in my room tomorrow,” Bucky says, casually.

Sam stops walking. “If that’s what you want to do, I’m cool with it. But there are jet ski lessons on the beach at 12.”

 _Jet ski lessons._ Dammit, that sounds cool. “Fine,” Bucky says. Sam grins at him, and Bucky feels _slightly_ better. Just slightly.

It turns out the Hydra operatives are definitely aware of their presence, which Steve is convinced is a good thing.

“We kept their attention yesterday,” Steve says. “Tomorrow we’re going to find out what we can.”

“Sounds good, man,” Sam says, easily, relaxed, totally casual. Bucky is jealous.

“Did you two have fun today?” Natasha asks them, with a smirk.

Actually, Bucky thinks, he did. He glances across at Sam, who looks entirely neutral, and then says, “Uh, yeah. It was relaxing.”

Sam nods, and Bucky eases back into his chair. They _both_ had fun. Okay, that’s good.

“Clint sent me a video of the comedian’s set,” Natasha says, and Bucky groans while Sam starts laughing again.

***

Later, on the way back to their rooms, Steve catches up to him and bumps their shoulders together.

“Going okay?” he asks, and Bucky nods.

“Yeah,” he says, simply.

“I know you don’t like this kind of thing,” Steve says. “Out in the open.”

Bucky shrugs. “It’s okay. I’m doing okay.”

Steve doesn’t look convinced. “Well, just let me know if you’re not.” He reaches over and squeezes his shoulder. “I mean it, Buck.”

“I know, I know,” Bucky says, and sighs. “It’s just, there’s a _lot_ of attention on us here.” He dredges up a smile. “But it’s fine. I’m fine.”

He can tell Steve doesn’t really believe him, but one thing Steve’s taken to doing over the last few months is taking Bucky at his word — it’s something to do with not wanting to make decisions for him, letting him have his agency. Bucky appreciates it.

“Whatever you say, Buck,” Steve says, and lets it go.

***

Twitter is absolutely full of speculation about what they’re doing in a luxury hotel together, Bucky discovers that night. He can’t stop _scrolling._

The picture of him and Sam golfing is kind of nice, though. He’ll admit that much. And if he saves the picture, nobody has to know.

***

Sam goes for a run the next morning, which Bucky finds _extremely_ selfish, because it leaves him all alone at breakfast. He gets some waffles and tries not to imagine every single person in the room staring at him, thinking about the comedy set, the golf picture, whatever the hell else has made its way onto the internet since he last checked thirty seconds ago, and focuses on drizzling syrup over his plate instead.

He sits at what he’s now decided is their table, and checks out the room. Three people have their phones pointed at him. At least two people are openly staring.

 _God,_ he thinks, and tries to eat his waffles as photogenically as possible. Cameras had followed the Howling Commandos around occasionally, and he’d known how to perform for them — when to look like he was staring candidly into the distance, when to ignore them completely, when to talk into them. In the few film reels he’d managed to see, he’d thought he looked pretty good. But then, decades of lurking out of sight and doing everything possible _not_ to be seen has kind of made him lose his cool around a camera. There’d been a press conference after the remaining Avengers had solved the Thanos problem, and despite Steve’s assurances that no one would ask him anything, he’d take all the questions aimed his way, everything would be fine, a reporter had asked Bucky how it felt to be back, and Steve couldn’t _really_ answer that one for him, so Bucky had tried his best. He wasn’t sure if that meant _back_ in this plane of existence, _back_ in the 21st century, _back_ from Wakanda now that he’d been pardoned of all crimes as the Winter Soldier, so he’d just replied, “Uh, good thanks.” Judging from the reporter’s face, that hadn’t really been the answer expected.

Bucky finishes his waffles, drinks his orange juice in a few gulps, and stands to go. An entire table of people look up at the movement and he freezes. They stare at each other awkwardly for a moment, then Bucky walks as hurriedly as he can past them and out the door. He _definitely_ hadn’t signed up to be a celebrity when he agreed to this whole Avenging thing. He remembers teasing Steve about his Captain America propaganda back in the war — this must be karma.

He finds Sam out on the beach, sat near the jet skis. Bucky drops down to the sand beside him and says, “People keep staring at me.”

Sam gives him an amused glance. “It might be something to do with you being famous, Barnes.”

Bucky sighs, loudly, but can’t think of anything to say in return so settles for staring at the ocean instead. It looks very peaceful. He can’t wait to ride a jet ski across it. 

“You know,” Sam says, “for someone whose idea of a fun night out is staying in and playing Scrabble, you’re weirdly excited to jet ski.”

“What?” Bucky says, wounded. “I know how to have fun!”

“Sure you do,” Sam says. “Like when I asked if you wanted to try the new bar literally two blocks away and you complained it was too far to walk for a night out?”

Bucky flushes a bit, because that was an excuse so he could stay in and catch up on his shows. “It _is_ too far.”

“Or when we were all supposed to go to that amusement park and you said—”

“I _was_ busy—”

“—you said, _no, Wilson, I have to clean my apartment._ Who does that, Barnes?”

Bucky folds his arms and glares out at the horizon. “Jet skis are cool.”

“Yes, they are,” Sam agrees. “But you’re not, which is why I’m confused.”

“You’re hilarious,” Bucky says. “Are we doing this or not?”

“After you,” Sam says, grinning.

Bucky hesitates for only a moment before he tugs his shirt off to put on his lifejacket — nobody’s obviously staring, but he still feels uncomfortable. Meanwhile, Sam’s taking his sweet time to pick out a jacket that fits, but the thing is, he’s already taken his shirt off. He’s totally shirtless, comparing two jackets with a thoughtful look on his face, and Bucky’s glad he’s wearing sunglasses because he finds he can’t stop _looking._

 _Why am I staring at Wilson’s chest,_ he thinks, but he still doesn’t look away. It’s like, _sculpted._ Muscle. He’s—

Sam finally picks a jacket and puts it on, and Bucky looks away fast and clears his throat a few times. Damn, he’s been acting weird lately.

“Ready?” Sam calls over to him, and Bucky doesn’t trust his voice to come out right so he just nods.

The instructor takes them through things slowly, but eventually they’re both off across the waves — Bucky’s stomach swoops every time the jet ski bumps up from the water, and the feeling of sea spray on his skin is _amazing,_ and he thinks he maybe wants to ride this jet ski forever. He looks across to Sam, who’s turning in circles and smiling wide, and feels a smile splitting his face, too. He’s glad he didn’t stay in his room.

When their time is up, they reluctantly return their jet skis and hand back their lifejackets — Sam takes a moment to stretch out his arms, which makes all the muscles in his back literally _ripple,_ and Bucky catches himself staring again. His cheeks feel hot. Maybe he’s not wearing enough sunscreen.

“What’s the plan now?” Sam asks, still shirtless, still glistening with ocean spray. Bucky looks up from where he’d been rooting through his bag looking for the sunscreen and sees Sam’s abs right in his face. They are _very_ well defined.

“Um,” Bucky says, and looks away. “Up to you.”

“Come on, man, I’ve been doing all the heavy lifting here,” Sam complains. “It’s your turn to think of something.”

Bucky considers the yoga classes option, but that would mean Sam stretching in close proximity to him again, and for some reason that makes him blush a bit.

“Um,” Bucky says again. “The pool?”

“The _pool,_ ” Sam says, and rolls his eyes. “What we were doing all day yesterday?”

“The jet ski tired me out,” Bucky says, defensively. “I want to go lay.”

Sam snorts a laugh, then says, “Okay, okay. Let’s go _lay._ ”

The pool’s pretty full by the time they get there, but they manage to find two loungers next to each other. Bucky starts studiously reapplying sunscreen, wrinkling his nose when some of it drips into the joints of his metal fingers, while Sam stretches out next to him. Bucky settles back on his lounger, and, eyes hidden behind his sunglasses, sweeps the area — a few people are looking, but most are pretending not to notice them. For some reason, Bucky finds he doesn’t mind so much anymore.

“Hey man,” Sam says, after about half an hour has gone by. “Can you get my back?”

Bucky looks over to see Sam holding the sunscreen bottle out in his direction, and feels his face flush.

“Sure,” he says, calmly, and sits up. “You know there’s going to be photos of this all over Twitter though, right?”

Sam laughs, then shrugs. He rolls over onto his front, and Bucky swallows the lump that’s appeared in his throat. It’s okay, he thinks, it’s just sunscreen.

He moves to sit on Sam’s lounger, pours a liberal amount of sunscreen into his hands, then stops. “Uh, you’re okay with the metal arm, right?”

“You know I am,” Sam says, his head turned to one side on the lounger. He isn’t quite looking at Bucky, but Bucky feels flustered anyway.

“Oh, okay,” Bucky says, and then, hesitantly, puts his hands on Sam’s back.

 _Definitely_ muscled, he thinks, as he starts massaging his hands up and down. He’s at kind of an awkward angle, but turning all the way round — or _straddling him,_ god — feels like too much, so he pushes on. This would’ve been easier if Sam had sat up, he thinks, but it’s probably too late to ask now.

God, he’s blushing _so much._ Why is he blushing so much? He shouldn’t be blushing this much.

“Uh, you’re all set,” Bucky says, when he’s done.

“Thanks, man,” Sam says, and turns just enough to smile up at him. Bucky’s stomach swoops like he’s back on the jet ski.

 _Oh,_ Bucky realises, now that he’s finished massaging every muscle of Sam’s back and Sam’s smiling bright and wide at him. **_Oh._** _I think I know what’s going on here._

“No problem,” he says, too fast, and practically jumps back to his lounger.

 _Do I have a crush on Sam Wilson?_ he thinks, desperately. He looks back over at him, stretched out on his lounger, eyes shut, and finds, to his horror, the answer is a resounding _yes._

***

Bucky barely hears a word of Steve and Natasha’s debrief that night, because he can’t stop thinking _you do not have a crush on Sam. You do not._ on a loop. For some reason, Natasha keeps giving him a knowing look. He’s fairly certain she isn’t psychic, but now he’s actually worrying that she is, because it would explain a lot. 

“So, we’re up tomorrow?” Sam says, and Bucky finally starts paying attention.

“All you have to do is recon,” Steve says, and Bucky relaxes. _Recon._ He loves recon.

“They’re staying on the tenth floor,” Natasha says. “They’ve got the whole thing to themselves. The only thing they’ve been doing is watching us, so make sure you play it cool.”

“I’m cool,” Bucky says, for some reason, and Sam bursts out laughing.

Natasha smiles indulgently at him.

On their way out, Bucky hangs back to walk with Natasha. She looks smug, and he doesn’t like it.

“You two sure look like you’re having more fun,” she says, before he can say anything.

“We do?” Bucky says, and then she shows him her phone screen. Bucky groans. He was right — there’s a picture of him leant over Sam, both hands on his back, expression intent. The caption says _am I in a parallel universe???,_ and Bucky finds himself asking the same question.

She arches an eyebrow at him, expectantly, and he shrugs, desperately.

“He needed sunscreen on his back,” Bucky mumbles, and she smirks at him.

“You know,” she says, voice low enough that Sam and Steve, ahead of them, won’t hear. “I’d believe you were just helping a friend out if it wasn’t for the fact you stared at him solidly throughout our entire debrief.”

“I _did?_ ” Bucky says, and his mouth drops open. So she’s not psychic, he’s just painfully obvious. He can live with that. Probably.

“Luckily you have two whole days on mission to stew over this,” Natasha says, and Bucky groans.

“Want to swap?” he asks.

“No way,” Natasha says. “I’ve earned my sunbathing days. I sat in an air vent for four hours yesterday.”

“That’s nothing,” Bucky says, immediately. “I once laid _in the snow_ on a rooftop for a full twelve hours waiting for a target.”

“Yeah? Well, once I had to crawl through some old guy’s sewage system to break into his house,” Natasha counters, and Bucky grins, because this is something they’ve started doing — their weird way of working through their terrible pasts. It’s _nice,_ even if they get weird looks whenever they start up again.

Back in his room, Bucky watches the adjoining door for a moment, then sighs and climbs into bed. He can handle this. He’s cool.

Twitter is absolutely full of the picture of him casually massaging Sam’s back. He locks his phone and refuses to think about it anymore.

***

They start early the next day, and for a while Bucky’s too distracted to consider the new and terrible knowledge that he has a crush on Sam Wilson. 

The Hydra operatives are sat on one of their balconies for most of the morning, and Sam and Bucky find a place nearby to casually drink orange juice and watch their every move. Natasha’s already bugged them, so they listen in through their earpieces — there’s not much to hear, besides a brief discussion of an arms deal the next week. Bucky’s fairly confident they’ll stop whatever the hell it is they’re doing by then, but he files the info away anyway.

“I think,” Sam says, lowly, “going off what Steve and Nat found, that Hydra are trying to distribute the weapons powered by the Tesseract.”

Bucky really shouldn’t be thinking about how deep Sam’s voice is when he’s _on mission._ “But the Tesseract’s gone.”

“They must have a different way to power them,” Sam says. “We just need to find out what, then we can stop them.”

Bucky nods and starts paying attention again. They keep talking about something called _the orb,_ which seems a likely candidate for a power source — Sam agrees, so Bucky goes to search the tenth floor while Sam stays eavesdropping.

He’s wearing his _weird leather vest_ under his shirt, but he still feels kind of exposed as he picks the lock to one of the rooms and slips inside. He’s got _three_ guns strapped to his legs, today, but still, it doesn’t seem enough. There’s no way Hydra could ever get hold of him again — firstly, because he wouldn’t let them, and secondly, because the others wouldn’t either — but he still feels uneasy. 

_I’ve been dealing with their shit for too long,_ he thinks, and goes back to searching.

The only thing he finds is a memory card, which he plugs into his phone. It contains blueprints of some kind, and he sends them over to Sam.

“Looks like this is info on _how_ they’re powering the weapons,” Sam says, when they meet up again later. “Still no idea about the orb, or why they’re doing this.”

Bucky shrugs. “There must be something in the other rooms.”

“I’ll search them later,” Sam says, and it’s enough of a plan that for the rest of the day all they do is watch.

Later, after dark, Sam sneaks off to look through the rest of the rooms, and Bucky keeps an eye on the operatives — they’ve been talking about the stock market for almost two hours, and he’s so bored he’s willing to admit Natasha might have one over on him if she really sat in an air vent listening to this shit for _four entire hours_.

“Barnes,” Sam says, in his ear, and he sits up straighter. “I’ve got something.”

It turns out to be a memory stick, and they look through it on Sam’s laptop later. Bucky does a great job of ignoring the fact that he’s in Sam’s bedroom at gone midnight.

“Dammit,” Sam says, and Bucky refocuses. “They’ve got buyers in practically every country.”

Bucky leans over to look at the screen, and feels his stomach clench. “That’s not good.” Pieces of Hydra spread out all across the world. _Again._ No, not good at all. 

“We’ll stop them,” Sam says, confidently, and when he unplugs the USB, his hand brushes Bucky’s.

***

The next day passes in the same way — so much recon Bucky kind of starts to hate it, filling in Steve and Natasha at the bar, then laying half sprawled across Sam’s bed at night pouring over what they’ve found. It amounts to _not much,_ but they have a lead on the orb for Natasha and Steve to follow up _._

Bucky’s phone buzzes while they’re inspecting their scraps of intel. It’s another text from Wanda, and it’s a video of Natasha and Steve go kart racing. Steve is losing until he jumps from his kart and sprints past Natasha to the finish line.

Sam falls back on the bed laughing, and Bucky flops next to him.

“That’s gold,” Sam says, and reaches across to take Bucky’s phone from him to watch it again.

Bucky’s breath catches when he leans close, and he forces his breathing back to normal before Sam can notice (at least, he hopes he does). Sam smells really nice, he realises, and that doesn’t help him convince himself he hasn’t got a crush _at all_.

“Alright,” Sam says, when he’s done rewatching. “I’ll see you tomorrow at breakfast, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Bucky squeaks, and makes his escape to the safety of his room.

***

“Maybe we should try go karting,” Sam muses the next morning, when they’ve finished with breakfast.

“I can run as fast as Steve,” Bucky says. “Just a reminder.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “That was cheating. You’re not going to cheat, because that means I’d win.”

Dammit, he’s right. “Fine,” Bucky says.

“Or there’s table tennis,” Sam says. “Or—”

“What’s wrong with the pool?” Bucky says, and Sam glares at him.

“It’s boring, Barnes.”

“You keep telling me to relax,” Bucky complains. “But now you keep trying to make me play miniature sports.”

“ _Fine,_ ” Sam says. “But I’m actually getting in the pool today.”

Bucky abruptly starts wishing he’d agreed to table tennis, because Sam? In the pool? Dripping wet?

He feels himself flush red and turns his face away to hide it.

***

It turns out to be exactly as bad as he’d expected, and he spends most of the time with his face half submerged in the cold water to cool his blush. God, he’s so _bad_ at this. Was he always so bad at this? He doesn’t think so, but maybe he’s looking back too nostalgically.

“Man, can you even swim?” Sam calls to him from where he’s floating on his back. “You’re just lurking in the corner scaring all the other swimmers.”

Bucky _has_ been lurking in the corner, but he thinks _scaring_ is a bit unfair. It’s normal to give other swimmers a wide berth, right?

“Yes, I can swim,” he says, and kicks off from the wall to prove it. He swims over to Sam, and Sam grins at him, and his stomach gets all fluttery. Over a _smile._

 _This is hopeless,_ he thinks.

“Your hair looks like seaweed when it’s in the water,” Sam says, and the fluttery feeling vanishes pretty fast. Bucky dunks himself underwater and comes back up with all his hair in his face, and smiles when he hears Sam start laughing. 

As soon as he pushes his hair out his eyes, Sam splashes him with water, and Bucky retaliates by grabbing a mouthful of water and squirting it at Sam like a dolphin.

He laughs, then gasps, and says, “ _Gross,_ man!” but he doesn't stop laughing, so Bucky doesn’t take it to heart.

***

Sam’s shirt is more or less half unbuttoned at dinner that night, and it’s way more distracting than it has any right to be. Bucky keeps his eyes on his plate. 

“I might come back here someday on a real vacation,” Sam says contemplatively, leant back in his seat with one elbow on the back of the chair. The very picture of cool.

“Yeah? Me too,” Bucky says. “It’s nice here.”

“We should come together,” Sam says, and Bucky feels his cheeks heating again and wills them to _stop_.

“Yeah,” he manages. “That’d—that’d be cool.”

Sam looks faintly amused. “Cool,” he repeats. “It would be.”

Bucky takes a big enough bite of his food that he doesn’t have to speak again for thirty seconds.

“Uh, I wonder how Steve and Nat are getting on,” he says, when he’s finished chewing.

“Hey, no mission talk,” Sam says. “We’re off the clock tonight.”

“Okay,” Bucky says.

Sam gives him a look. “What’s on your mind?”

 _My tragically huge crush on you,_ he thinks, but says, “Nothing.”

“As usual,” Sam grins, and Bucky rolls his eyes.

“I’ll have you know I’m extremely intelligent,” he says.

“Whatever you say, Barnes.” Sam leans over and steals a fry from his plate, and Bucky’s too taken aback by their sudden proximity to do anything about it.

***

When they’ve finished eating, Steve texts them both to tell them he and Nat are caught up on mission and can’t meet them for the debrief. Bucky tenses up a bit, because he was going to corner Natasha and ask for advice on the Sam Situation, but Sam slaps an arm round his shoulder and pulls him in against his side before he can think too hard about it. 

“Don’t worry, they’re fine,” he says, while Bucky’s busy blushing to his hairline. “If it was anything bad, they’d call us in.”

“I know,” Bucky mumbles. Dammit, how does Sam always smell _so nice?_

“Hey,” Sam says, still holding Bucky against his side. “We should try the beach bar.”

Bucky swallows. “Sure.”

Sam releases him for the walk down to the beach — the bar is a beach hut facing the ocean, with lights dimmed low hanging from the wooden ceiling. It’s _ambient,_ Bucky thinks. Sam orders them both something non-alcoholic — not that it really matters for Bucky anyway — and they sit facing the ocean and drinking in what feels like companionable silence. Bucky leaves his arm up on the bar just to see if Sam will put his up next to it, and when he does, it gets him irrationally excited. He doesn’t even know where to begin trying to scope out if Sam likes him, too (especially not now that he couldn’t waylay Natasha for advice), so accidentally touching arms is going to have to do for now.

God, he’s so bad at this.

“I think we’ve found paradise,” Sam says, and Bucky’s inclined to agree. They’re sitting facing the ocean, and it’s still pleasantly warm and the moon is full and bright and the only sound is the roll and crash of the ocean and the faint sound of music drifting from the hotel’s bar above them. Bucky wants to stay there _forever._ He looks across at Sam, who’s watching the ocean with a little smile on his face, and Bucky’s stomach starts doing weird things.

Sam looks up, catches him staring, and smiles a soft, quiet little smile. “You okay?” he asks, voice low, deep, and Bucky _thinks_ he nods, but his brain is kind of offline.

“Glad the bar’s empty, though,” Sam says.

“Oh?” Bucky says, without looking away. He’s  _not_ getting his hopes up.

“Yeah,” Sam says. “Those pictures were fun, but some things are private, right?”

“Oh, right,” Bucky says. He’s blushing again, because Sam is _moving closer._

Sam puts a hand on his wrist where it’s still resting on the bar, then leans in all the way and kisses him.

Bucky’s so stunned that for a moment he doesn’t move, and then his brain comes back online and he puts his other hand on Sam’s shoulder and pulls him in closer. Sam laughs a bit against his mouth, and it’s such a _nice_ feeling that the fluttering in Bucky’s stomach comes back full force.

Sam leans back enough to push Bucky’s hair back out of his face, and Bucky can feel himself flushing red enough that he must look horrifically sunburnt. Sam grins at him.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Bucky blurts, and Sam looks kind of shocked.

“ _What?_ ” he says. “I thought I was being really obvious.”

“Not obvious enough,” Bucky mumbles, and Sam laughs.

“Man, I stood on that beach by the jet skis literally _flexing_ in front of you, and you didn’t realise?”

Bucky groans and shoves his face into Sam’s shoulder. “Shut up.”

“I got you to put sunscreen on me,” Sam continues, and Bucky starts laughing, because, okay, maybe he’s a _bit_ oblivious.

“Please stop talking,” Bucky says, and leans back up for another kiss. 

“Alright, but only because I think you’re cute,” Sam says, and Bucky starts giggling, which sets Sam off, and then they’re both slumped over each other laughing helplessly.

 _Maybe I’m not_ that _bad at this,_ Bucky thinks, when Sam tilts his head up and goes back to kissing him.

***

When they make it back to their rooms, Bucky hesitates for just a second. He’s not really sure where they go from here — Sam had put his hands pretty tight in his hair earlier and Bucky had basically dissolved against the bar with an incredibly embarrassing sound, which had made Sam pull back, smirk, and say, “I don’t think this place is private enough for that.” That means something, right? Doesn’t it? 

“Uh, goodnight, then,” Bucky says, when Sam doesn’t say anything, and slides his keycard into his door. He can feel Sam’s eyes on him as he slips inside. That was the wrong thing to do, wasn’t it? He was supposed to say something smooth and go into Sam's room with him, right?

Bucky puts his head into his hands and groans. “Why am I so _bad_ at this?!” he says, to the room at large. 

There’s a knock at the adjoining door, and Bucky’s hands drop. He feels his heart rate pick up.

He opens the door to Sam looking at him with an expression that’s definitely, undeniably (he hopes) _fond._

“These walls are very thin,” Sam says. “You’re not bad at this.”

“Oh great, you heard that,” Bucky says. “That’s just great.”

“You _are_ a little oblivious,” Sam says, pulling a mock sympathetic face at him.

“Shut up,” Bucky says, again, and pulls him closer by his shirt.

Sam tugs him all the way into his room, leans round him to pull the door shut, then pushes him up against it. “Whatever you want, Barnes,” he murmurs, then ducks to suck a mark onto Bucky’s neck. Bucky gasps, loudly. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

“I—I want to,” Bucky stammers. “I’m just— _so bad at this._ ”

Sam laughs against his neck, a soft brush of air, and Bucky shivers.

“It’s okay,” Sam says, leaning back to look at him. “I understand the effect I have on people. It’s a curse.”

Bucky hits his head against the door he’s laughing so hard, and Sam pulls him away from it and walks him toward the bed.

“This okay?” he asks, and Bucky nods, moving to undo the few buttons of Sam’s shirt that are actually done up. He smooths his hands across Sam’s chest and pushes the shirt all the way off.

“I’m cool,” Bucky says, and Sam presses him down onto the bed.

“You are,” he agrees, and pulls Bucky’s shirt off. He runs his hands gently over the scarring on his shoulder, then leans down to press a kiss where the skin meets metal, and Bucky shuts his eyes and shudders.

***

Sam’s in the bathroom when Bucky wakes up the next morning. He waits to feel awkward, to feel like he needs to grab his clothes and run away as fast as he can before Sam comes back into the room, but he doesn’t. He just feels… _really good._ The memory of Sam’s hands all over him, their mouths together, Sam’s breath hot against his skin…yeah, it’s good. 

He smiles to himself, stretches, and sits up to find his shirt and boxers. The only thing on the floor is a Hawaiian shirt.

“Wilson!” He yells. “Where the fuck is my shirt!”

He hears Sam laughing through the bathroom door.

***

Steve and Natasha hit a breakthrough that day, and before they know it, SHIELD have carted off the Hydra operatives, located the orb, and set agents on the trail of all the buyers. It’s dizzyingly fast, and it turns out Steve was right - the breakthrough came when Hydra tried to attack Natasha and Steve. 

“We still have three days left,” Steve says, when they meet back at the bar. People are _definitely_ openly staring, now, and some are just straight up filming them. That's to be expected, Bucky thinks - SHIELD aren't exactly inconspicuous. 

“However will we fill the days,” Natasha says, her legs kicked up on a spare chair, cocktail in hand.

“I can think of a few things to do,” Sam says, and slings his arm casually over Bucky’s shoulders. Bucky definitely ruins the vibe by how hard he’s blushing, but Natasha gives him a thumbs up, and Steve just says, “ _Finally_ ,” so he thinks he’s in the clear.

**Author's Note:**

> title from Feelings by Hayley Kiyoko 
> 
> this was meant to be something just short and fun but somehow it's 8k??? wild 
> 
> anyway i hope you liked!! this was v fun to write


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